Earlier today I posted a pic of myself from my fashion show days at Howard University. It was one of two pictures that I posted in support of the #ILoveHoward movement, to show how much I love(d) my alma mater then and now, despite its challenges. (This is just one step of course, giving back monetarily is just as important, but I digress…). In one photo I appeared at a bbq with two of my very good friends. In the other, on stage with a fellow model, both of us in lingerie, not graphic or nude, but there was certainly some skin showing. It was risqué, but very much a snapshot of campus life (fashion shows were everything at Howard University). And while I had some reservations about posting the latter (who knew I was so bold back then), I decided to honor who I was 15 years ago, and post it anyway.
For someone like me, who likes to think everything through (and sometimes to a fault), I considered what people might think, what comments I might receive, and whether this one photo would blind people from my stance on the various issues that concern me (the plight of black people, education, creative expression, and others). But why had all of their thoughts and values taken precedence over mine?
I thought back to the nature of the photo. It was the Spring Fashion Show of 1998. I was 19, a young adult just coming into my own, learning my boundaries, accepting my body completely. My parents had driven down from New York earlier that day to be there, so they were in the audience by showtime. I had walked out in several outfits, this one being the most revealing, but hardly the most memorable. A friend had shared the photo with me last week as we talked about days gone by and the like. He did the same with others, who posted their photos on Facebook as well. I posted the photo he gave me on Facebook (along with the other one) and on Instagram (just this photo).
Why was I anticipating a negative backlash? Because Beyoncé was labeled a whore for preening, scantily-clad, beside her husband on stage, and I hardly have the power that King Bey has. And just a week ago I was writing about how I was recalibrating, focusing on my legacy and the impact of my art. So to follow it up with a photo, which I found harmless though others might think otherwise, was opening myself up for judgement. I’m clear that because we’re human in an era that leaves no room for busying ourselves with digging deeper, we often fail to consider anything beyond our initial reactions or our feelings about the matter.
Interestingly, many years since the photo was taken, those who have known me in passing, mostly in my mature life, see me as a tomboy, thanks to my lean towards low maintenance styles of dress (regardless of what my closet boasts) as opposed to Choo’s and Hervé Léger dresses 24/7. Been there, done that, and I’ve long been over dressing outside my comfort zone. So the photo in question came as a surprise to many. Still, they surprised me, laughed with me, celebrated the beauty of youth alongside me, and enjoyed my throwback moment of fearlessness as much as I did.
But just as I was starting to get comfortable (as I have gotten older, somehow I have reverted back to the timid little girl who was afraid to hit the ballet recital stage without her mommy), someone posted the comment: Why are you thirst trapping?
Was I supposed to take it in jest? How could I when the very statement meant that I was purposely looking for men to feed me compliments? Was that the impression I was giving off? Had I ever posted photos like this before? No… So how could someone arrive at that conclusion? Will any sexy photo I post of myself draw this same ending? And while I don’t see myself walking a runway in this fashion anytime soon (though I have posed nude for the sake of art and I might do it again), should I shed my former self, deny it ever happened and keep it moving?
In one fell swoop I became a sexual being who was doing the most, and all via one comment. Could I be exaggerating and letting my emotions take over? Sure. But I can’t help but wonder why all too often being sexy equates to being sexual? The truth is, I have never understood this. In my teens as I was running to go-see’s and fittings, tryouts and rehearsals, I dressed the part, and the attention it garnered me out in the street while favorable wasn’t disrespectful. Walking off stage and into the dressing rooms were another matter altogether. It was there that I found harassment to be at its height. Mostly because everyone’s adrenaline was on level 10 by the end of the night, I gathered.
By college, things changed. I had come to the understanding that who I was on stage was who people were expecting off stage all of the time. I reveled in this at first, because she (the model) was more fierce than me, bold, open, aggressive and spontaneous, too. My brain gave way to two personas because that’s what kids do when they don’t want to or know how to blend two opposing parts of themselves… they compartmentalize or split themselves in half. During that time, as I became more neutral, my model self became more daring. So when I went out to parties at night, I would pack up my fears and be my model self. I wasn’t very honest with myself. It was all very confusing even to me.
Over time the divide grew greater and the rubber band holding the two sides of me (who probably wouldn’t be friends in real life) together was about to break. So I made the executive decision to merge around 20-something. I was learning for the first time that being sexy needn’t be an act. It was an aura that came from within, from truly understanding and valuing yourself in every way, which I’ve been told is supremely attractive to onlookers.
As I owned this new me in totality, dipping in and out of styles that made up my complete experience, I noticed certain behaviors from outside myself that were growing incredibly troublesome. Owning my sexy had made me a sexual object, and outsiders articulated this in every scenario I found myself in from work to real life. Little did I know that somehow during the merge, I had discarded the ways I had dealt with this issue in the past (because it certainly wasn’t the first time men were pushing beyond my limited interest). So when interested suitors approached me when I wasn’t looking for it (and in whichever manner they deemed appropriate, however inappropriate), I slowly began to tone down my sexy and opt for more neutral more often than not. WEAK.
Throughout my late 20′s to early 30′s I reserved my sexy for home and special events, away from prying eyes. And still it was tempered. But who wants to be a watered down version of themself? Enough with the shrinking! I had done this for too long, and I was bigger than that now. So when I posted that sexy photo of my younger, bold self earlier today, it was less about wanting the attention of those who may want to give it willingly, it was more about a look back to a time when I was young, free and unquestioning. A time just before I lost my direction and spent years trying to return to she. And no, it doesn’t mean that I want to have sex, turn you on, or get your likes. I’m too busy finally loving and owning myself totally.
This story appears as part of a collection of stories, entitled Saturn’s Return by Amy Andrieux, Editorial Director at TheStarkLife.com. The series sees Amy documenting her 35th year, while reflecting on moments past and how to move forward. Each piece is inspired by real life happenings, few with exaggeration and embellishment, and/or change of name to protect the innocent. Follow Amy on Twitter @MissAimstar …
